by Paul Scott
For the first time Kasim was unable to keep his eyes unwaveringly on the man. He glanced down and carefully covered his right hand with his left to control the familiar tremor before it began.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you wish. But as briefly as possible.’
‘A charge of waging war against the King-Emperor is of course going to be the almost unavoidable common charge to be faced in these cases and in your son’s case the evidence is incontrovertible since he was captured fighting in one of the INA units that accompanied the Japanese when they tried to invade India in 1944 and got as far as Manipur and Kohima. The unit he commanded surrendered voluntarily and seemed to have been abandoned in an untenable position by the Japanese, without access to any supplies or lines of communication. I’m afraid one often found that. Voluntary surrender or no, however, he was in arms, waging war.’
‘You were in that theatre of war yourself, Colonel?’
‘I was on the staff of one of the divisions that were brought up to mount the counter-attack. As an intelligence officer the INA became my special concern.’
‘Were you present when Sayed was brought in?’
‘No, I was out of the line by then.’
‘Wounded you mean, thus?’ Kasim indicated the arm.
‘Yes. Thus.’
‘By INA action?’
‘There were INA about. Japanese as well. Why do you ask?’
‘The reason is obvious, surely? A man wounded as badly as you could be forgiven for accepting a job that gave him an opportunity to redress the balance.’
‘One does the job one is given. But I take your point. The INA were involved in the incident but I was wounded entirely by my own fault.’
‘How was it your own fault?’
‘I was trying to stop a fellow officer acting thoughtlessly.’ Merrick paused. ‘You asked me to be brief –’
‘I know, but I should like to hear about this other matter. It is all relevant to my rather sparse knowledge of the INA.’
‘Very briefly, then. I’d gone forward to collect an INA prisoner. At that time they were rather a rare species. The sepoys of the Indian Army tended to shoot them out of hand. This prisoner was originally from the Muzzafirabad Guides. The officer who was on the same divisional staff as myself was also Muzzafirabad Guides. He insisted on going with me and when the man said there were two other INA ex-Muzzy Guides soldiers hiding in the jungle near by waiting to give themselves up the officer suggested we went to collect them. I said we shouldn’t, but the next thing I knew was he’d taken our jeep, and the prisoner, and gone forward to do just that. I borrowed another jeep and went after them. When I found them the jeep was under fire and on fire. The prisoner had decamped, presumably to rejoin the enemy, and the officer was burning to death. I pulled him and the driver out but it was too late to save the officer.’
‘Was he a friend of yours?’
‘We knew one another pretty well. At least since I acted as his best man. At his wedding in Mirat. I expect Ahmed will have told you about the wedding. Ahmed, or Count Bronowsky.’
‘The wedding. Ah, yes.’
‘But I think it fair to say I went after the officer only to secure the prisoner, who was my responsibility. The result was hardly the prisoner’s fault, nor was it really the officer’s. I needn’t have followed. He was one of those men with the not uncommon idea that any sepoy who’d been in the regiment would only have to come face to face with one of the officers of that regiment to throw his gun down and return contrite to the fold. I took the less romantic view that guns only got thrown down when the alternative was hunger and no other escape-route.’
‘As in Sayed’s case?’
‘I don’t think you’ll find he pretends otherwise. And being an officer he was responsible for the lives of the men in what remained of his unit.’
‘You’ve interrogated Sayed often?’
‘Since joining the department several months ago I have talked to him quite frequently, yes.’
‘Forgive these questions. An old lawyer’s habit. Please go on. He was captured originally by the Japanese in Kuala Lumpur in ninteen-forty-two when the Japanese defeated the British Army there.’
‘The British Army and the Indian Army. Yes. Of course you know he asserts he didn’t join the INA until after August nineteen forty-two when he heard of the arrests in India after the Congress Quit India resolution – arrests which included your own. He told you this in his first letter home, after we’d recaptured him. I’m afraid copies of all his letters in and out have had to be made.’
‘Don’t apologize, Colonel. I am used to that sort of thing. In the same letter to my late wife he apologized for having failed in the march on Delhi.’
‘It was probably the same letter. I remember the phrase from my study of his file.’
‘Tell me, Colonel Merrick. How does this apology for having failed in the march on Delhi balance with your view that he is not among those unrepentantly proud of the situation he finds himself in? Which situation do you mean? His situation as a Lieutenant of the Ranpur Regiment, now your prisoner awaiting trial for waging war against the King, or his situation as a Major in the INA who failed in his march on Delhi to free India from the British but lives to tell the tale?’
‘It’s more than a year since he wrote that letter.’
‘You mean he has had second thoughts?’
‘Frankly, Mr Kasim, I should say he had had a great number of thoughts. For the past year he hasn’t had much to occupy his mind except the single subject of why he decided to switch his allegiance.’
‘And wage war against the King. Yes.’ Kasim waited, then said, ‘What other charges?’
‘Incitement? Abetment? Bringing aid and comfort to the enemy? As I said, charges aren’t framed. But your son has admitted to helping to recruit other Indian POWS into the INA and also to helping devise propaganda about the INA and broadcasting on one occasion to India, incognito.’
‘Is there any more serious factor that may have to be considered?’
‘More serious factor, Mr Kasim?’
‘One hears gossip, tales, possibly exaggerated, or so one hopes, that recruitment was not always voluntary, that in a few cases certain methods were used to persuade sepoy prisoners-of-war to join.’
‘You mean brutal methods?’
‘Yes, I mean that.’
‘And what you want to know is whether this is a factor that may have to be considered in your son’s case and might lead to a charge that he used such methods himself?’
‘Yes.’
After some moments Merrick glanced at the table. The one good eyebrow contracted slightly. Kasim wondered whether the full ramifications of the question of brutality were lost on him. They could not be if his reputation from the time of the Bibighar was deserved. But perhaps that reputation was simply the result of rumour too.
‘A factor that may have to be considered?’ Merrick repeated to himself. He looked at Kasim again. ‘The only answer I can give you, Mr Kasim, is that I don’t know. I can assure you it hasn’t arisen yet but it would be quite unrealistic of me to assure you that it can’t arise.’
‘You mean there are indications that such accusations may be made against Sayed?’
‘On the contrary. A lot of evidence has been collected of cases of torture and brutal behaviour and several officers and NCOS have been named, but your son’s name has never been among them. In fact the men who surrendered with him have invariably spoken of him with great respect, particularly in regard to his care for their welfare and for the way he stood up to Japanese officers when this was necessary. No, my point is that the men we have access to, those already recaptured, represent only a percentage of the eventual sources of evidence. There are all those still in Malaya for instance. I can’t vouch for what some of them may or may not say about your son’s conduct once we’ve got hold of them. It was a very large army.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I’m exceeding my brief expressing a personal opinion, but I shall
express it none the less since you seem concerned. I should be very surprised if at any time between now and the completion of the collection of all the evidence in all the cases your son is implicated in any charges other than those I’ve mentioned.’
‘Yes. I see. Thank you. And this is all you have to tell me?’
‘I think so. I hope it’s helped you in a general way.’
‘Yes.’ He made a snap decision. ‘Tell me, Colonel Merrick – are you still troubled as I understood from Ahmed you were – I mean troubled by incidents devised to remind you that your conduct as Superintendent of Police in Mayapore – I should say suspected conduct – had made you unpopular in certain quarters and wasn’t going to be forgotten?’
Merrick smiled. A cheerful smile, Kasim thought.
‘Not until recently.’
‘Another stone?’
Merrick reached for his briefcase and began to manipulate the artificial hand back round the handle while he continued speaking. ‘No, there’s only been the one stone. Chucking stones at British officers is rather a hazardous operation. They’ve reverted to the subtle approach. The bicycle again.’
‘Bicycle?’
‘A bicycle. Left on my verandah. Rusty and useless, naturally.’
‘A rusty bicycle left on your verandah, Colonel Merrick? What purpose does this serve?’
‘It’s obviously a symbol of the bicycle I’m supposed to have planted outside the house of one of the boys who assaulted Miss Manners. Miss Manners’s bicycle.’ He stood up. So, after a moment, did Kasim. ‘The bicycle’s rather a good touch. They began after I’d left Mayapore just by chalking inauspicious signs outside the door of my bungalow. Then one day there was this rusty old bicycle outside my quarters. That was in Mirat, just before someone chucked the stone. The incidents have a twofold purpose, of course – to let me know it’s known where I’m currently living and working – which they do – and to undermine me psychologically – which they don’t.’
‘When and where was this new incident, this second bicycle?’
‘According to my cook, about a week ago in Delhi. I’ve been down in Ceylon and Rangoon and got back only just in time to accompany your son here. My cook said he found it leaning against the verandah rail one morning. He got the sweeper to take it to the back of the compound because there was a bad smell which he traced to the saddle-bag. He wouldn’t touch it himself after that because the smell was that of a putrid pork chop. Since he’s a Muslim I’ve had some difficulty in persuading him to stay. He’s a very good cook. He cooks fresh pork chops for me quite happily. Just seems to draw the line at putrid ones in the saddle-bags of rusty bikes.’
Kasim averted his face to disguise his own revulsion.
‘You should report such things to the police.’
‘I always do. It doesn’t bother me personally but then whoever is responsible for this kind of childish persecution isn’t really in the least concerned either about me or about what are no doubt still called the innocent victims of the Bibighar. The Bibighar affair was used as an excuse to stir up trouble generally and it rather looks to me as if it’s going to be given another innings in conjunction with the INA cases because it’s been discovered I’m connected with them.’
‘Given another innings by whom, Colonel Merrick?’
‘By whoever prefers anarchy to law and order. Has Count Bronowsky never talked to you while you’ve been living in Nanoora, about the power exercised in India by uncommitted and irresponsible forces? He was very eloquent about it on the first occasion I met him.’
‘Count Bronowsky and I don’t have an intimate relationship, in spite of my younger son’s connection with him. He and I are politically opposed. He is dedicated to the continuing autocratic authority of the Nawab. I am dedicated to the diminution and final extinction of the autocratic authority of all the Indian princes. My respect for Count Bronowsky has become quite strong since I’ve lived under restriction at the Nawab’s court, but we are still political opponents and seldom exchange views.’
‘I suppose you and I are potentially opponents too, Mr Kasim.’
‘You and I?’
‘I and your party. Surely I’m on the list?’
‘What list, Colonel Merrick?’
‘The list of officials whose conduct in nineteen forty-two may be inquired into. I’m told it looks as if I’m likely to be on it.’
‘Told by whom?’
‘The CID officer I reported the new incident to. Not that it surprised me. The fact that the subject has come up at a political level is sufficient warning. Anyway, if I’m not on it yet I imagine from what I’m told that my old friend Pandit Baba of Mayapore won’t be happy until I am. Of course it’s he who’s responsible for the childish persecution, but there’s never been any clear evidence to connect him with it. He’s not a very connectable man. You can’t pin him down with any certainty even as a member of the militant wing of the Hindu Mahasabah. But he has a genius for inspiring young men to sacrifice themselves in whatever cause he’s currently taken up. I admired him rather. In Mayapore whenever we caught one of his disciples as they called themselves breaking the law they always swore the only thing they discussed with the Pandit was the Bhagavad Gita and went willingly to prison. What I admired was his power to inspire such loyalty. In those days his activities were more tiresome than dangerous but I should say he’s capable of graduating to better things. Assassination, for instance. You know the man I mean, Mr Kasim?’
Kasim smiled.
‘I have never met him. I think now I must see Sayed. You are due to take him back to the fort when?’
‘When your meeting is finished.’
‘And when do you take him back to Delhi?’
‘This evening.’
‘By road to Ranagunj and then by aeroplane?’
‘Yes. I must be in Delhi tomorrow. I have to fly back to Kandy and from there probably to Singapore.’
‘Then I will say good-bye to you now, Colonel Merrick.’ Again he made a snap decision. ‘I don’t think we shall ever be opposed in the sense you mean. Not you and I personally. I am not interested in past quarrels, only in solving present and future problems. It is the only way any of us will ever make progress.’
‘Quite. Quite.’
For the first time Merrick looked uncertain of himself, disappointed, if the unscarred side of his face was anything to go by. Kasim thought: He’s proud to be on the list, in which case what people said about his conduct in Mayapore is probably true.
The man reached for his cap. Kasim did not watch him go through the awkward motions of tucking it under his left arm.
‘I’ll bring Sayed now,’ Merrick said. He hesitated then went towards the door.
‘No, please do not bring him. I wish our meeting to be completely in private and in any case it would offend me to see him physically in the custody of anyone. And there is another thing –’
He went over to the window. ‘This room is very hot and dark. It is like a cell. I closed these shutters because there is a guard outside whose presence disturbs me. I know that guards are necessary – if only as a formality since Sayed could hardly effect a credible escape in the middle of this desert.’ He opened the shutters and breathed deeply. The guard was still there, just out of earshot. ‘So I apologize for any inconvenience but I think I should prefer to see Sayed in the courtroom. At least it will be larger and airier and they can post as many men outside as they wish. That should take only a few minutes to arrange, shouldn’t it? Just a question of clearing the other people out. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to send someone to let me know when everything is ready.’
‘I’ll come myself, Mr Kasim.’
‘That is kind of you.’
III
He realized how little he could have seen of the Circuit House on that previous visit fifteen months ago. He did not recognize the corridor that Merrick now led him along. They stopped at a door. Merrick opened it on to a small room.
‘This isn�
��t the court-room,’ Kasim said. ‘It’s the magistrate’s room.’
‘It’s the best way in.’
‘No! The worst! How can I enter the court-room through the judge’s door? Where have you put Sayed? In the dock?’
‘I can bring him here if that’s what you’d prefer.’
‘I wish no one to bring him anywhere.’ He felt ill. He turned back into the corridor whose series of grimy windows gave on to the verandah of the inner courtyard. The place stank of unresolved cases, of the acrid odour of legal millstones grinding fine and slow between sessions; and of his youth, pleading interminable cases in court-houses such as this. After all, interviewing Sayed in the court-room would be a mistake. It would be like putting him on trial. But then, for Kasim, what was about to follow was Sayed’s trial.
‘Mr Kasim, are you all right?’
‘I am perfectly all right. It is just that –’
He broke off. There was a third man whom Merrick was urging forward from the open doorway; a tall man, taller than himself, broad-boned, well-fleshed, dressed like an active-service officer in dark green cotton uniform; pale brown skin, dark-browed, brown-eyed. Between the nostrils and the lip a moustache grew, close-cropped in the British style. The hair was cropped too, but not too close. A fine-looking man. Only the eyes betrayed a weakness: the weakness that accompanied an uncertainty about the warmth of his reception.
But Sayed did not wait to find out what kind of reception he would get. Silently, effortlessly, in one flowing movement he knelt at Kasim’s feet, placed his hands on Kasim’s shoes, lowered his head to his hands and then raised it, at the same time removing his hands. As he rose Kasim instinctively performed his own task, putting his arms round him. So, for a moment, they remained.
‘Come, let us go through,’ Kasim said, and released his son. Merrick was walking down the corridor, his back to them; but he had been a witness. Kasim led the way through the magistrate’s room, out on to the dais in the court-room and down into the well of the court. He stopped by one of the pleaders’ tables; that table at which Sayed must have been sitting. There were an empty coffee cup and a used cigarette tray. The smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air. He still drank too, probably, like Ahmed, but with at least the excuse that it was a habit acquired in army messes, just to prove equal capacity with British officers. But the smoking was new and despite himself Kasim found the dirty ashtray repugnant. He said nothing, but Sayed, also without a word, removed it, took it across to the other table.